


My Soul to Take

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Other, chapters may be added later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Capio isn't quite his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Soul to Take

“Honey, your dad isn't eating with us tonight, remember? He's at the station tonight.”

Barely five years old, missing his two front teeth and extraordinarily clumsy even for a kindergartener, Stiles Stilinski—as he likes to be called—grins up at his mother. “S'not for daddy.”

His mother nods slowly.

“S'for Capio!”

Mrs. Stilinski laughs softly, a little relieved. “Thought you might've invited Scott over without telling me.” Stiles shakes his head and matches his mother's laugh. “So, who's Capio?” Mrs. Stilinski asks, dropping to a crouch and grinning at her son.

Stiles lights up. “He's my new friend! But not my best friend cuz Scott's my best friend, but Capio is really cool too!” Stiles holds out his arms and Mrs. Stilinski scoops him up. “He's really quiet so he probably won't talk to you but he's really cool, and he catches me when I fall and he always knows how to make the mean kids at school go away.”

Mrs. Stilinski peers at her son with concern. “Mean kids?”

Stiles shrugs and wriggles, wanting down. “They just pick on Scott and me, cuz he doesn't have a daddy and I hang out with him.”

Mrs. Stilinski smiles gently. “Well, you're a very good friend, Stiles, for hanging out with him.”

Stiles beams and tilts his head so that his mother can kiss his forehead. “Can I play with Capio for a bit?”

“I'll call you down for dinner, okay?”

Stiles grins and nods and takes off like a bat out of hell, rushing up the stairs and bursting into his room. Fifteen minutes later she calls to him and he comes thudding down the stairs again, hand curled in a loose fist around what she assumes is Capio's hand. She grins at 'them' and Stiles holds out the chair for Capio before seating himself.

“Does Capio like spaghetti and meatballs?”

Stiles looks pointedly to his right, to Capio, and then nods after a brief silence. “He loves them.” Stiles relays proudly. Mrs. Stilinski grins. “But he likes it spicier?”

“Next time I'll add a little more pepper.”

Stiles beams.

)

John comes home when she's rinsing dishes, while Stiles watches the last of cartoons before Adult Swim starts. John wraps her in a hug and kisses her, smiling but tired. “He behave?”

She laughs. “Of course. Especially with his new friend to keep him busy.”

John raises an eyebrow.

“His name is Capio,” she recites, “he catches Stiles when he falls, he likes spicy foods, and they hold hands.” She smiles at John, that familiar giddiness rising in her of having a child, a perfect little child, for all his faults. John grins back and kisses her again before moving to the living room.

“Hey, kiddo, I heard you got a new imaginary friend.”

Stiles looks up, mouth open and eyes tired. “Yeah,” he mumbles, stretching into a yawn. “His name's Capio.” Stiles looks to his left and grins at the empty air. “Can he shake your hand dad?” Stiles stands and stretches again.

John's lips quirk up in amusement, and he nods. “Of course buddy. Such a polite friend you've got there.” John kneels and holds out his hand. Stiles takes him by the wrist and seemingly wrap his other hand around Capio's wrist, leading their hands together. John prepares himself to tighten his grip on nothing, smile and nod, but as soon as Stiles' hands bump, John feels as though someone just dumped a bucket of ice water down his spine.

He shudders, hard and impossible to ignore, and moves to stand. Even after his dislodged the.. _handshake_ , the feeling of chills and torment itch on his hand and crawls up his arms.

“You should head to bed, buddy.” Stiles nods, and rubs his eyes; he takes Capio's hand again and trots up the stairs.

John watches his son, ignoring the way it feels like spiders are dancing over his shoulders and all across his skin.

)

“Honey, you're going into sixth grade.” His mother messes with the collar of his shirt and the plaid flannel thrown over it. Her lips are pulled into a frown, and her eyes are blank and tired. Stiles is almost twelve, and his teachers say he has ADD and he has the biggest vocabulary out of all the other students. They say it's because he likes to read, but Capio teaches him all sorts of things, like Greek roots and Latin, and about myths and magic and history. The only thing Capio isn't good at is math, but that's okay. “Stiles, you aren't listening.”

Stiles frowns too, and nods. “Sorry mom.”

“Just promise me you won't mention Capio to anyone at school, okay? Don't bring him up, don't tell the teachers, don't let Capio touch them okay?”

Stiles isn't put out—he's been keeping Capio to himself since third grade. “Yeah, mom, okay.” He leans over and kisses her cheek, and she hugs him like she used to. He returns the pressure for as long as she lets him. When she opens the door, Stiles urges Capio outside silently. His mother keeps an eye on them from the porch until the bus picks them up.

)

When Stiles gets home, he sighs and goes straight to his room. He didn't tell anyone about Capio, even Scott thinks that Stiles grew out of him. Which would be fine—if it were something to grow out of. But Capio isn't, he's there, he can be touched. Stiles stares at him, all black smoke that solidifies when Stiles reaches out to him. He has no eyes unless he needs them, a mouth only when he speaks to Stiles, a mouth full of sharp wispy teeth.

“I'm sorry,” Capio tells him, hands like claws coming out to run soothingly along his scalp. “I did my best.”

Stiles just nods and returns the hug, sighing into Capio's smoky chest. “S'okay.” He says, because it is.

)

“I can't do this anymore John!” She yells, and Stiles flinches. He's in his room and they're in the kitchen, but they're loud.

“It's—we can fix it!”

“He's going into high school, what are we supposed to do? Make sure his _imaginary friend_ helps him with his _English_ homework?” She rages, and Stiles imagines John taking her by the wrists to calm her down. “He needs to grow up, he needs to move on!”

“I think we both know that this isn't just an imaginary friend.”

She hiccups a sob. Stiles can see it, perfectly, crystal clear, see her chest heave with a sob as she murmurs over and over  _“no, no, can't be, don't believe it, don't exist, no.”_

)

His mother dies on a snowy, Tuesday afternoon. His father is at work, staying away from his crumbling marriage and pouring himself instead into the increasing numbers of car accidents, into the Hale fire, into the disappearance of kids and adults alike. Winter has always been hard in Beacon Hills, for his family especially. But this year is worse.

Stiles gets up after his mother, even though she's asleep on the couch, coffee cup half empty in her hand. He stares at the back of her head, and feels a hand on his shoulder. He looks at Capio, who's eyes are blue and teeth solid. Capio has grown with Stiles, they're halfway into freshman year. Stiles had a little growth spurt and so did Capio. They're grotesque mirror images, Stiles knows it, Stiles loves it.

Stiles looks at his mom again, illuminated by the dull winter sun streaming in, and by the light of daytime television.

Capio's voice comes harsh against his hear, rancid like smoke, burning his skin. “They've called for an exorcist, you know, a priest coming to take me away from you.”

Stiles keens unhappily.

“They don't want me here, her especially. Your mother.” Capio's fingers, always sharp at the tips like endless claws, dig pinpricks into Stiles' skin. “One of them has to go, Stiles, I'll be safe with only one of them.”

Stiles looks at Capio again. And blinks, blink, blinks. “How?”

“Just, let me.” Capio slinks around him, dangerously sly. “Open your mouth, Stiles, this won't hurt a bit.”

Stiles looks at his mother, at the snow falling outside, and back to Capio. Slowly, his opens his mouth just enough to inhale sharply before everything goes black.

)

As stated, his mother dies on a snowy, Tuesday afternoon.

)

Capio doesn't come back after that; Stiles doesn't know what happened that afternoon and doesn't want to. He slides into sophomore year without incident, until Scott gets bit and everything kind of hits the fan. But Capio isn't there beside him when Peter offers the bite. Capio isn't there when Stiles launches the cocktail at Peter's alpha form; Capio isn't there when Gerard beats him into the rug, when Derek throws him against walls, when Jackson goes from being the kanima to a beta. Capio isn't there and now, now that he's in junior year, the loneliness takes its toll.

Scott transitions into the Hale pack easily, and even with Boyd and Erica gone, Derek has a  _pack_ , a family, something almost whole.

Stiles has his father, which was great. But he misses Capio, and the hugs he got when no one else was there to offer, the bits of snarking advice whispered in his ear, he misses the comfort of a weight only he can feel, a presence for him and him alone.

)

One day when Stiles gets home from a pack meeting, Capio is sitting on his bed; they're still the same height, the same mirror image of each other. Stiles breaks into a hapless grin, and drops his bag.

Capio lets Stiles hug him, returns it with smoky fingers, barely tangible. Stiles thinks he seems nervous, ready to dissipate at any moment. “I missed you.” Stiles says around the smoke curling in his mouth, ashes on his tongue and gums burning raw.

Capio pulls back and grins, teeth as sharp and constrastingly white as ever. “I missed you too, Stiles.”

“Why?” Stiles is older now, he's not a child. But he can't help the whine in his voice, the way his greedy hands won't let go of Capio.

Capio looks ashamed. “I thought you wouldn't want to see me.”

Stiles laughs. “I missed you.” He tells him. “I was getting lonely.”

Capio grins at him, the grin that's always been caught between  _I love you_ and  _I can destroy you_ . “I know,” and he motions to himself. “I'm here.”

Stiles nods, taking in the familiar heavy air in heady inhales. “Yeah, yeah you're here.”

)

“Stiles, Derek says you need to come over.”

“I'm—?”

“He doesn't care.” Scott says apologetically. “He says it's urgent.”

Stiles huffs. “Fine, I'll be there in twenty.” He hangs up and stands. “Come with me?” He asks.

Capio, lounging on Stiles' bed, shakes his head. “I don't think that's the best idea.”

Stiles pouts, but makes no point to argue. Capio is resolute, every time Stiles asks for him to go to school, for him to go shopping with him. Capio never ventures from the Stilinski house, and even then rarely out of Stiles' room.

“I'll be, here, waiting, okay?” Capio raises a claw and Stiles holds it for a moment, relishing the warmth at his fingertips that wraps around him like a blanket.

Stiles grins and hurries. The sooner he gets back the better.

)

“So, what's up?” He announces his presence in the best way he knows—talking. Derek, Isaac, Jackson and Scott are gathered around the rickety old dining room table they got from a yard sale. Peter walks in belatedly and stands beside Derek.

“There's a demon in Beacon Hills.” Derek says, voice stiff and unhappy.

Stiles' eyes widen. “Holy shit.” He hurries forward with intrigue. “How do you know? Do you know where? What are demons like?”

Peter looks briefly at Derek, concerned, but Stiles ignores it because for once he gets to be involved in something  _exciting_ .

“It's a familiar presence, a demon whose been here before.”

Stiles nods, and takes a seat though everyone around him is standing.

“Stiles,”

“I'm listening!”

Derek looks frustrated, and Peter lays hand on his shoulder which obviously does nothing to help.

“C'mon, I don't have all day.”

Scott looks pained, upset, and sits as well. “Stiles, whatever happened to your imaginary friend?”

Stiles blinks and blushes vibrant. He looks at Jackson, expecting a taunt or a laugh, but Jackson seems to let it slide. “He just went away, after my mom died.”

“Yeah? I thought—I thought, in the third grade.”

Stiles' blush worsens and he stares at his lap in shame. “It wasn't until my mom died. I just wasn't allowed to tell people.”

Scott looks like he's going to puke, and excuses himself. Derek shoots Jackson and Isaac a look and they hurry out after him. This time, Peter takes a seat and speaks so gently, it's more terrifying than when he was an alpha. Stiles clenches his hand, feeling the phantom warmth of Capio's grip.

“Stiles, didn't you ever think it was weird?”

“That he left?”

Peter nods.

“I.. no. I mean, I thought.” Stiles bites his lips. “I didn't think it was weird.” He settles on. “He says he wasn't sure if I'd want to see him.”

Derek growls and Stiles starts a bit. “What do you remember from the day your mom died, Stiles?” Peter cuts across the growl; faintly, Stiles thinks that interrupting the alpha isn't allowed. But he doesn’t comment.

“It was snowing, it was Tuesday. Capio said..” Stiles blinks, and wills his reddening face away. “That's it.”

“What did he say?”

“I don't remember.”

Derek turns to him, claws digging into the table. “Don't you think it's kind of stupid to lie to two werewolves at once?”

Stiles puts on a face, a facade. “I'm not lying.”

Derek roars, projecting his status and his dominance. But Stiles isn't affected. He's used to it and he's not a wolf, he doesn't have to roll over, bare his neck.

“I'm leaving.” Stiles says. He makes a sharp turn for the door, but Peter catches him around the elbow.

“Didn't you ever think it was odd that your mother died without a trace of foul play? No fingerprints, no illness. Nothing, just, dead.”

“That happens. Heart problems and stress, and losing her mind over Capio.” Stiles realizes it burns his tongue to say his name around them, but ignores the feeling for the moment.

“Being burned from the inside out doesn't just _happen_.” Derek snarls, and Peter doesn't let go.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“It was like she stuffed herself with hot coals.” Derek continues, unrelenting. “When the doctors cut her open for autopsy she was nothing but ash inside. Her teeth were black, it was like she'd died in a fire.”

“No, she was perfectly fine outside. We had an open casket.” Stiles barks back, because he remembers that. Two months after the fact in February, and it had rained so hard that they closed to casket anyways.

“Because that's what black magic does, what demons _do_.” Derek's claws are verging on terrifying, and Stiles shakes his arm out of Peter's grip.

“Capio isn't a demon. He's—he helps me.”

“He manipulates you.”

“He made sure I was safe. He protected me.”

“He's caging you, he's going to hurt you Stiles.”

Stiles can't decide which is more terrifying—the gentle way Peter is attempting to soothe him, or Derek just in the background, seething and wolfing out, just seconds away from going alpha.

Stiles glares between the two of them. “You're lying. I don't believe you. I'm leaving.” And he does, and no one stops him from getting into his Jeep and driving away. With each moment, he hears his mother's murmurs in his head—

“ _no, no, can't be, don't believe it, don't exist, no.”_

)

Stiles bursts into his home, glances at the note from his father— _“Stiles, stopped by for a change of clothes, working tonight and tomorrow, see you when I get home.”_ —then rushes upstairs. His bedroom door is open and Capio hasn't moved far. He looks at Stiles with purple eyes, Stiles remembers them vaguely.

“I—Derek tried to—?”

Capio stands, more of a rush of wind than actually moving, and grips Stiles' shoulders. “Are you alright?”

Stiles quakes in the grip. “You're a demon.”

Capio's mouth twists into a smirk. “Yes.” He leads Stiles to the bed, and Stiles lets him.

“You—you killed my mom.” Stiles hates the way his voice cracks.

“No, no,” Capio hums softly to him. “ _You_ killed your mother. I just helped.” He grins again and Stiles thinks he should be horrified. He feels like there should be chills on his skin, ice in his bones, goosebumps and _fear_. But there's none of it. As Capio lays his hands and claws on each part of Stiles, he feels nothing but consuming warmth, like a friendly fire licking at his skin. “I did it to protect you, Stiles, to protect us. Remember? She was going to take me away from you.”

Stiles feels anger rear. “You left anyways.”

Capio hushes him with a small, thin gust of smoke against his lips. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I was worried.” But he doesn't sound sorry at all.

Stiles blinks, his mind hazy and Capio's fog seems to get bigger, thicker, hotter. It's spanning his bedroom, and Stiles wonders if it'll set off the alarm.

“I'm sorry, Stiles, I'm sorry.” His ear burns from the hot breath. “I won't leave again, I won't.” Shaking hands—Stiles realizes they're his own hands, caked lightly in ash and shaking violently—come to wrap around Capio. He feels more solid that Stiles ever remembered, like a real person. “Stiles, I need a favor.”

Stiles blinks and chokes on his smoky inhale.

“They're going to take me away, Stiles. Derek and Peter, they'll think they're saving you.”

“Don't go.” Stiles admits weakly, clutching at Capio.

“I won't, I won't,” he hushes again, “but I need a favor.”

“Anything, _anything_.” Stiles feels dangerously close to tears. But whether it's from learning _he killed his mother_ , or from learning that he's been friends with a demon since he was six, or from the thought of losing Capio again, he doesn't know.

“Open your mouth, Stiles. This won't hurt a bit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Capio is Latin for "take," which was the theme I was going for.


End file.
